Minor Fall, Major Lift
by season5girl
Summary: A peer into one of Jack and Stephen's evening concerts, though this one turns out a bit differently. SLASH RR, please do!


Disclaimer: 'Master and Commander' does not, I know, it's surprising - shocking, even - belong to us; it belongs to Mr. Patrick O'Brian and to 20th Century Fox, and anyone else who makes legal claim to it and who I may have left out. The title is from Jeff Buckley's version of 'Hallelujah', sadly I am not sure by who it is originally written, but it belongs to them, too. Needless to say, we own nothing of the above. *Sad, shudder sigh*  
  
Rating: PG-13 (To be on the extremely safe side of things)  
  
Summary: One of the many evening concerts Jack and Stephen have had, only, this one turns out a bit differently.   
  
This is SLASH, yes. That means a relationship between two men, but it's nothing explicit at all, it's very mild. You've been warned!   
  
A/N from TwilightWolf: We had only the best of intentions and the greatest respect for the movie. (We respect the books as well, but as only one of us has read half of the first.) THAT being said...  
  
A/N from season5girl: I must give credit to my darling co-author who helped immeasurably with this story: wonderful job, as always, dear! This is, of course, dedicated to her: It was worth more than six miles.  
  
Minor Fall, Major Lift  
  
Was everything really so much a lie?   
  
It continued to bother me in the most hidden aspects of myself as it had done for the better part of a month now. As though I couldn't put passed my nature the falsity I strove so hard to believe. I could fool myself only so much, before the truth in me began to show its presence.  
  
I enjoyed my violin. I knew I truly wanted to play in the company of a fine man, and old friend. It's nothing that the invitations were so frequent, I told myself again, continually. Music soothed the weary traveler. Perhaps, yes, my soul needed soothing, and truly what was it if I gathered such through our music...or his company? What was it to anyone but myself?  
  
Still, whether or not it was nothing, soon it would be noticed. I myself knew how I watched him when his head was bent in concentration.   
  
Eventually my eyes would be lowered too late and perhaps he would guess. Perhaps he would no longer accept my invitations; perhaps he would leave my ship.  
  
Would it be better if I invited him less often? It would make the opportunities of his noticing more infrequent, but I do not think it would change anything of my...attachments to him.  
  
I have tried to conceal it under friendship, deep friendship perhaps but only that. It will not work for long even without our evenings together. It becomes clearer and clearer that 'attachments' is a more apt word then 'friendship'.   
  
There is another word that I do not dare use. Perhaps if I could stop watching him –  
  
"Jack? You missed your entrance."  
  
...damn.  
  
"I was-"  
  
"-don't say you were only improvising."  
  
"We can begin again," I told him. He did not answer, but began the piece again. These are the moments which I fear. A close call would not need to be much closer then this one had been in order for it to cross into being a disaster. And what would he say then? What would I tell him? That occurrence would not be solved so easily as starting the song over.   
  
And yet that didn't stop my eyes moving to him, excusing it as a way to keep track of the music. The sounds of the instruments fell together as they had so many times before and I blame that feeling of normality that kept me watching far longer then was safe, that allowed him to look up and hold my gaze.  
  
"You didn't miss it that time," he said pleasantly.   
  
My stomach dropped with the faint hope he had assumed I was watching him for the exact reason I rationalized: to spot my entrance.   
  
But if staring had been taken as reasonable, what of how my face might have changed when he looked up at me? For surely it had moved with the lurching of my stomach.  
  
"Yes, well, I was paying attention," I muttered, trying to look as though the only thing in the world concerning me was my violin and no doubt failing.   
  
"Mmm, I noticed."  
  
These were the words I did not long to hear. But I strove to take no notice of them; for he did not mean them now how I feared he one day might. As words of anger, or of parting.  
  
We made it through the rest of the song without breaks and when it was finished he laid down his bow. I assumed this was the prelude to some leave-taking but instead he made a point of trying to hold my gaze. I made a point of looking down. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Wrong, what makes you think anything's wrong, Stephen?"  
  
"Well, in my professional medical opinion, you're a bit off colour."  
  
"On the contrary, my health is quite fine," I said, suddenly interested in the strings of my violin and the powder for my bow.  
  
"If it's not your health, then what is it?"  
  
"What makes you suspect there is anything?"  
  
"You're terse more often than not, quiet rather than boisterous at dinner, and lately I've been looking up to find you staring at me with a rather hopeless expression...just little things, really."  
  
"Well, I trust you're reading them wrong, these little things," I said truthfully. There was no doubt in my mind he was reading them incorrectly; how could he have supposed the truth in my actions? Surely catching me a few times...watching...that would not have been enough. Though to my mind it assured something: I would, after all, have to stop our evenings playing together, if I could not find the will to stop my staring at him. I did not know if I could; did not know...if I could find will to stop either.  
  
I heard, very faintly, the words "Am I?" and knew from his expression that he must have been unaware anything had been said, let alone heard.   
  
I rose; trying to find something, anything with which to occupy my time and behind me heard Stephen begin a piece by Corelli. When it stopped barely a few bars in I turned to see him watching me with a hangdog expression.   
  
"Jack," he said quietly, "Let us pretend, just for a moment, that I have an idea what your behavior might mean."   
  
I fought through the rising panic to form a coherent answer. "That's an odd game, Stephen."  
  
"I'm an odd man. Do you want me to leave the ship, Jack?"  
  
I'm sure there was again some change to my face. I'm sure by this point, he would not be put off, would not believe what I told myself to believe; that there was nothing wrong.   
  
"Why would I want you to leave the ship?" I asked lightly, as though the idea were so foolish it was not worth the slightest entertainment.  
  
"We're playing a game, remember, Jack," He said, dropping his eyes to his right hand which still held his bow.   
  
His head bent, he looked back up, without the appearance of playing, "It's only hypothetical," he said.  
  
"For someone who complains about my puns, it's a very odd game. And one I don't much like." I tensely ruffled through some maps.   
  
He smiled, as though he meant to laugh, though it never came to that.  
  
I picked up a map.  
  
"Puns are by their nature made in poor taste; this...game, however odd it may be, it has a point,"   
  
I stopped moving. The maps were blank parchments to my eyes, which no longer saw anything in front of them. My mouth opened and I made to wet my lips, for too suddenly my voice seemed dry and gone.  
  
"A point, Stephen?"  
  
"Hypothetically..."  
  
"Hypothetically? You ask me a question that I'd never want to contemplate and then add 'hypothetically'?" A possibility occurred to me, one that was far more fixable than my emotions. "If this is about the Galapagos Stephen, we will go back, just as soon as the Acheron has been escorted, it…"  
  
"This is not about the Galapagos, Jack," Stephen said, he looked for a place to lay down his bow.  
  
"Then-what?" I still held the maps, but I watched him now, my vision refocused, a nervousness within my stomach which I had not felt since I was a young boy. Excitement, groundless, hopeless.  
  
A quick, almost bitter, smile flashed across his lips. "As I said, I noticed some change in your behavior. I-" A pause; fiddle uselessly with a sheet of music, "-also noticed that it seems to centre around me. I thought it would take you longer to notice...but..."   
  
"Notice? What..."  
  
"...And you asked me in so many times and seemed so uncomfortable, I assumed you were looking for a way to ask me to leave. I thought I'd make it easier for you."   
  
For the first time in this conversation, for the first time in this evening, I felt I could identify the look that came across my face. I felt assured that this time it was surprise.   
  
  
  
Irony. I had tried to keep from him the feelings...the attachment I knew there was behind my curtain. Behind my...was there another word for it....denial. I had tried to keep it from him, and instead I had made him feel unwanted. I suppose I had done what I intended to do; only to an extreme I did not want. Nor did I imagine for any moment, would come about. And yet, here it was…it had come about...it...  
  
I had only meant to hide my attachment...I had not meant...to...  
  
"I did not mean to imply I wanted you to leave," I said quickly.  
  
"Then what did you mean to imply? I know you and your sense of duty. I don't want you to ask me to stay if-"  
  
"Now first off my wanting you to stay has nothing to do with duty. Secondly..." I paused and ran some of his words back through my mind. "Stephen, you mentioned you'd thought I'd noticed something. Just out of curiosity, what did you think I'd noticed?"  
  
Now was my turn to watch his manner change. He seemed suddenly aware of how he was sitting, as if he'd become at the asking of my question so self-conscious. He looked around the cabin, for perhaps his answer was in its old oak beams. Then he turned to face me.  
  
He looked calm, determined. He looked as he always did; as though he had both an answer to give, and a question to ask.  
  
"Hypothetically, Jack, you might have noticed that I was...am...becoming," He paused; his hand went to his chin, covering half his mouth. He ran it down and off his face. As though the sweeping of his palm had triggered the answer he needed.  
  
"I thought that you may have noticed how badly I want to stay. How nearly I sometimes might miss my own entrance...because I am not watching what I am playing. I am watching you,"  
  
I felt my jaw drop and knew the expression on my face was dumbfounded. It must not have been an encouraging sort of dumbfounded because he glanced up and his jaw tightened.   
  
"Yes, well. Goodnight, Jack." He stood and made his way passed me far more quickly than I had expected.  
  
"Stephen-"  
  
The door closed.   
  
Suddenly it was very quiet. The music which had been a comfortingly familiar presence had gone, the cello and violin both left where we had last touched them. Stephen's bow was not to be seen. Perhaps he had never found a spot to place it before.  
  
I still held the old, yellowed maps in my grip. They seemed a distant thing, all the way down the length of my arm.  
  
The hull rocked. It creaked and cracked and sailed on. All those things I was so used to.   
  
I could not help but think, of all the times for my fast tongue, my quick words to be slow, of all the times for Stephen to not understand something, why did it have to be now, and this?  
  
I stared at the door. I should go after him, I would go after him. Though I did not know anything in this moment, heard and felt my movements toward the door as though they were not mine, muted, as if under water, I thought only of finding him.   
  
I could not know any more than that. Nor hear for the ringing in my body, I could not have known, until the door opened again.  
  
"I've come only to say I'll be disembarking at the next port-"  
  
I saw only that he would not meet my eyes.  
  
I knew only afterwards, or during, that I had kissed him; I am sure it did not startle him half so much as it did me. I felt his cello bow across my back as he embraced me in return. I do not think either of us knew anything just then.   
  
I still held the maps in my hand. 


End file.
